Body and Soul

Six months ago I started therapy to find myself. I felt strong enough to search my past, come to grips with all that was frightening and ugly, and try to find some healing. To a certain extent, I did. But I also found out all sorts of awful things about myself--and maybe I always knew them, I just, finally, admitted them. One can live for a very long time, ignoring the things that ache. I did. I'm very proud of myself for facing many of my fears. And because I have addressed them, worked through them, dealt with the feelings surrounding them, my life is better. But in the process of it all, I found out that there are some things that just don't seem to go away. One of those things is guilt--another is blame--still another, regret--and underneath it all, hate...

I find it interesting that, in the case of my abuse, I no longer blame my abuser, nor do I hate him. He was a teen, who made a terribly bad choice. I don't believe that he wanted to maim me for life--he was wrapped up in his desire to control and dominate in a sexual situation. I was simply "there". My husband thinks it's very bizarre that I feel this way, and I must admit, I do, too.

So now that I've made it through all the steps that were supposed to make me heal, here is what is left:
1. I STILL blame me. I think I finally understand that I was not equipped to get help at my age and with my past experience. But there is still an underlying feeling of blame.
2. I STILL feel guilt. Not that I allowed the abuse happen, not that I didn't try to make it stop...no, this guilt is for something entirely different.
3. I have so much regret...but not for choices made in this life...
4. All my hate is focused in one place.

The unexpected outcome of all this is something I never imagined, but it explains why most of my problems are now focused on my excessive exercise and eating disorder. I actually realized this one day when venting to Ward--which I do occasionally on his blog because he said I could (by the way, thank you, Ward). I realized, as we were trading comments that most of the elements causing me grief are directed toward my body.

To anyone familiar with those who have eating disorders, this will come as no surprise. But the nature of the feelings are a little unusual. For instance, I don't care if I'm skinny. I don't care if my body is perfect. I don't care if I wear a particular size, weigh a certain number of pounds, or look like a famous person. Quite honestly, I just don't want a body. And therein lies my paradox.
1. My church teaches me that one of the reasons we came to earth was to receive a body, and that when we are resurrected, that body will be joined forever with my spirit as a perfected soul. I blame myself for wanting a body in the first place--that was a stupid move.
2. I feel guilty that I don't want my body. It's supposed to be a wonderful gift from God, to be treated with dignity and respect, and cared for throughout my life. I starve mine, force it to run miles it's too tired to run, and have mutilated it in the past when I felt too sad to do anything else. But, truthfully, I really don't want it.
3. I regret the fact that I chose to come to earth to receive something that has been abused by myself and others. I find nothing of beauty in my body. It makes me sad to look at it. I keep thinking, if I hadn't had a body, my cousin could never have hurt me, and I wouldn't be faced with the dilemma I'm currently trying to resolve--to eat or not to eat.
4. I hate my body. Sometimes I hate the fact that I'm stuck in it. I keep thinking that after I run, I'll be happy that it's so strong, that I'm so fit, and there's a part of me that DOES feel that way...But mostly, I just hate my body.

Now, I know all this is sick and wrong. And I understand that my feelings need to change or I'll never get better. But I wonder sometimes, if I knew, before I came to earth, how much having a body would hurt. I don't think I did. And I wish I could stop following that line of logic that's causing me so much pain: I accepted a life on earth--I gained a body--someone used it, without my consent, in a way that damaged me--thus, if I had no body, it could not have been damaged--therefore, I continue to damage myself in the hope that someday my body will go away.

The problem is, I think the real damage is actually INSIDE me--in my soul, and probably has nothing to do, anymore, with my physical body. So I know I'm not solving anything with my destructive behavior. I just don't know how to stop.